


(you and me got a whole lotta) history

by ShippingEverything



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: (eventually) - Freeform, (sort of), Alternate Universe - Teachers, Gen, Getting Back Together, Kid Fic, M/M, Single Parents, more tags to come as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-06 13:15:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20507612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: Ernst Robel teaches preschool. Hanschen Rilow has a daughter. You'd think things could be a lot less complicated than this.Or: sometimes your ex appears in the city you've made your home and has a three year old daughter and you just have to deal with that





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [(you’re someone who knows) someone i once knew](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4796345) by [ShippingEverything](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything). 

> This is not at All what the song history by 1d is about but listen…. I do what i want. Also this is Sort Of a remix of my fic from _almost exactly four years ago_ (oh my god time moves SO FAST), _(you’re someone who knows) someone i once knew_, but now I'm a preschool teacher and I'm gonna give this one a happy ending, so...
> 
> Please enjoy!

“One, two, three, four, five -- great job, friends!” Ernst ushers the slowest of his students through the door of the preschool classroom, watching as they join the students already in the room, scattered amongst the U-shaped arrangement of the three main tables, playing with puzzles and dinosaurs, coloring and looking at books. Sitting in the middle of it all, perfectly positioned at the head of the yellow table, is Wendla Bergmann, lead preschool classroom teacher. “Good evening, Ms. B.”

“You’re _late_, Mr. Robel,” Wendla says, smiling despite her words, deep eyes twinkling. “We’re at 13 now, all together. You could’ve combined three kids ago.”

“I know, I know, but when I saw Mel leaving, I decided not to rush snack. Besides, Robby just got picked up and-”

Wendla cuts him off with a wave of a hand. She knows how Robby’s parents are.

“Well, despite your delay, you’re in luck: your favorite is still here,” Wendla gestures to the long red carpet to the left of the tables and there, making two dinosaurs fight, is Calliope Faulker. Ernst wouldn't say Calliope is his favorite, because he tries not to have favorites, but he's babysat her before and thinks she's precious, so Wendla likes to say it for him. She's usually picked up by 5 o'clock and it's almost 6.

“What is she still doing here?” Ernst asks as he sits, and he can tell from the look on Wendla’s face that it’s _interesting_.

“I'll let _her_ tell you. Callie, come over here!” Wendla calls, and Calliope abandons her dinosaurs to run over to them, lighting up when she sees Ernst.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” Ernst says as she scrambles into his lap, and then, because he _is_ a teacher, “Remember, use walking feet.”

“Sorry Mr. Robel,” Calliope says, then, “I want two ponytails. ...Please.”

Wendla hands Ernst some ponytail holders and he dutifully attempts to tame Calliope's tight curls into the ponytails she desires while Wendla probes, “Tell Mr. Robel who’s picking you up today.”

Calliope wiggles excitedly, despite Ernst's soft chiding, and cheers, “Daddy is!”

“Daddy?” Ernst asks, giving Wendla an incredulous look. “Not auntie, not mama, _daddy_?”

“Daddy. Mom told the office this morning and Mel _and_ Georg told me, so I’m shocked you hadn’t heard already,” Wendla says. Ernst frowns a bit.

He knows that his coworkers have _theories _on Calliope’s father, knows that people have ideas about how a single mother can afford childcare like this while she’s still in culinary school, but he also knows that no one but Wendla talks to _him_ about them. Ernst, having babysat for Calliope, has had more interaction with Lotte Faulkner than any of his coworkers and, not that anyone ever asks, in his opinion Lotte Faulkner is a normal, if incredibly busy, woman. Still, having a vaguely wealthy, always-on-business-trips ex is enough to attract attention, even if no one knows anything of substance about him; sometimes, Lotte or Calliope will mention him, or Calliope will bring toys and gifts from him in for show-and-share, but no one’s ever _seen_ him, he’s not one of Calliope’s listed emergency contacts, and Lotte’s facebook is too locked down to allow Ernst’s coworkers to check for photos of him.

Ernst thinks that Lotte should be _allowed_ that privacy, but he still can’t deny that he’s intrigued.

“Huh.”

“I _know_,” Wendla says, “I hope he gets here before I leave.”

He doesn’t though. One by one, thirteen kids dwindle to Calliope Faulkner alone, drawing a series of scribbles that are hypothetically a horse as Ernst sketches flowers. Eventually, Ernst hears his supervisor coming down the hallway, going through her normal _This is your first time at this school and I need to make a good impression_ spiel with a low, steady voice answering her. Calliope all but falls out of her seat at the sound, bouncing up and down.

“Is that daddy?” Ernst asks, though he can tell the answer by her excitement. Calliope nods like a bobblehead anyway, and Ernst laughs and gives a cursory “Stay back from the door, you could get hurt,” before he leaves her to her buzzing in order to pick up the coloring supplies.

When he hears the door open and Calliope scream in happiness, he turns back just in time to catch Calliope's dad spinning her around in his arms.

“_There’s_ my girl,” He says, cadence familiar -- probably from Ernst hearing parts of it mimicked by Calliope. When he settles her on his hip, Ernst finally gets to see the grinning face that he recognizes as-

“Hanschen?” Ernst nearly drops the stack of paper in his hands. Calliope's dad -- Hanschen, Hanschen _Rilow_, who Ernst hasn’t seen in _half a decade_ \-- looks at Ernst and his grin falters into slack-jawed surprise.

“_Ernst._” He says, then, “Lotte mentioned a Mr. Robel, but I never would’ve thought-”

“Well, it’s not a particularly common last name,” Ernst cuts in, fighting the urge to fall into hysterics. Jesus _christ_, it really _is_ Hanschen, huh?

“_Daddy_, let me _down_, I have to get my pack-pack,” Calliope says, tugging on Hanschen’s shirt, and the motion snaps Hanschen and Ernst out of whatever bubble their meeting had created. It’s then that Ernst realizes the way his supervisor is looking between Hanschen and Ernst, eyebrows halfway to the ceiling and hand up like she’s already texting half his coworkers about this.

Ernst clears his throat, watching Calliope instead of looking at Hanschen. "She seems ready to go."

"Of course she is," Hanschen replies, and he sounds like he's smiling again as Calliope toddles around, grabbing her _many_ paper and shoving them into her backpack. "I promised ice cream if she was good."

"She's always good," Ernst replies, an automatic assurance as he turns to actually put the paper away, but one that's true for her. Hanschen laughs.

"Come on, you don't have to lie to me."

Ernst, half absorbed in his tidying and half stuck in the past, says "That's never been _my_ problem, Hanschen," without thinking, like they're _Hanschen-and-Ernst_ bickering by the creek, and not Ernst Robel, preschool teacher, and Hanschen Rilow, father to a _three year old_. His supervisor clears her throat meaningfully. Ernst doesn't turn back towards Hanschen.

"Well, I think it's about time for us to get going, Calliope. Can you say goodbye to your teacher?"

"Bye, Mr. Robel!" Calliope trills obediently. Ernst turns back around to smile at her and, inadvertently, catches Hanschen's eye. They look-

Different. They look different and Ernst doesn't know why he's surprised, it's been _five years_, but there are all these _lines_ now. In Ernst's mind, when he thinks about his first boyfriend, Hanschen is forever frozen at eighteen -- clever and quick-witted and kind of a dick -- but here he is in front of Ernst, with those dark eyes aged like cedar, once-bleached curls grown out and sheared, in a _suit_ of all things.

"Have a great night," Ernst says, the sentence coming out easily due to months of routine, no matter the state of his thoughts. Hanschen smiles and leaves, Ernst's supervisor leading him out as he bounces Calliope in his arms. Ernst shuts his room down quickly, drives home, and very pointedly doesn't think about his hometown or high school or ex boyfriends who kissed him during class trips to the botanical gardens.

Still, late in the night, as he's getting ready to go to sleep, he pulls up Facebook. He's never unfriended anyone, if only because he uses it so infrequently that it doesn't matter, but he did mute Hanschen's account after their incredibly messy senior year. His finger hovers over the button for a moment before he presses it decisively, unmuting Hanschen. When he refreshes, his timeline fills with pictures of Hanschen and Calliope, and Ernst feels incredibly dumb for not figuring this out sooner -- Hanschen's profile picture is Calliope atop his shoulders for god's sake.

"This is fine," He says aloud to his empty apartment, even though his brain is very much yelling that everything's the _opposite_ of fine. His phone dings with a friend request from Lotte Faulkner. Ernst lowers his head into his hands, takes a deep breath, and tries not to scream. No positive thoughts can fix this one. _This_, is a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for giving this one a try! I'm gonna try to update in like a week so like, fingers crossed


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: im gonna update in a week!  
me, a month later, throwing rocks at past me: you dumbass, why would you say that
> 
> Anyway this chapter took an Eternity for many reasons, i get sick a lot and work 40 hours a week, but mostly it just bc im Like That sometimes. also i kept trying to write it in ernsts pov and that just wasnt the way to go. my heart demanded a mixed pov piece and i Must provide

When he gets to the car, after he's fastened Calliope into the lime car seat he let her pick for his car, Hanschen allows himself exactly three seconds to sit, forehead against the steering wheel, and try not to scream. Then he takes a deep breath and compartmentalizes like a big boy: _In one swift move, the flustered, embarrassingly _teenaged_ Hanschen disappears into a better, more age appropriate Hanschen who hasn't seen his daughter in a month and a half_; work face off, unexpected ex face off, dad face on. 

"Alright!" Hanschen says, grinning at Calliope in the rearview mirror and starting up the car, "Should we get Ice cream _before_ or _after_ dinner?"

Calliope, predictably, lights up like a string of fairy lights and shouts, "Before!"

Hanschen nods, having already begun the trip towards the ice cream parlor. "One ice cream, coming right up for my number one girl."

He knows, even as Calliope bubbles excitedly about ice cream, that Lotte won't be happy about what he's doing, but right now Lotte's having dinner with a friend she hasn't seen in months and Hanschen needs to cement his status as the fun parent; if only by necessity of their arrangement, Lotte has had to become the "strict parent," which means that Hanschen can easily succumb to his wants to indulge and spoil his daughter. Maybe he wouldn't let Calliope do whatever she wanted if he was always around but, as it stands, he intends to use every minute of time between his business trips to give her a reason to remember him next time.

When they arrive, he carries Calliope in, rocking slightly on instinct as they wait in line. It's both an arm workout and the most effective way to keep her close in an ice cream shop that also has boxes of chocolate on low, toddler-height tables. 

"What did you do at school?" Hanschen asks.

"I did the water table and took a nap and played with Jennifer and I was so, _so_ good," Calliope says, empathizing her goodness with a wiggle. Hanschen laughs.

"You don't have to convince me, Mr. Robel already," Hanschen cuts himself off with a suck of breath between his teeth. _I'm a real grown adult, I don't have to be like this about an ex_, he tells himself, then continues, a bit less jovial, "Mr. Robel already pled your case."

Calliope gasps, high and dramatic, and tries squirm out of Hanschen's arms, "My _picture_! Mr. Robel helped me make a picture of you and mommy and I _need_ it."

Hanschen, who has already seen this picture several times -- because Calliope showed it to him on the way out of the school and then twice in the car -- tightens his arms around her. "You can show me _after_ we get ice cream. You do want ice cream, right?"

Calliope, predictably, refocuses on the promise of ice cream and by the time they've gotten their scoops (a kiddie-sized vanilla in a cup with _tons_ of sprinkles for her, two scoops of raspberry chip in a waffle cone for him), she's easily redirected into telling him about the plot of the latest Disney kids' flick. 

He sends Lotte a selfie of the two of them afterwards,_** I didn't forget our kid, don't worry**_, then adds a quick **_did you know that I knew Calliope's teacher?_ **He doesn't expect to get a response and so he hustles Calliope back into the car to get home and fed before her mother returns. 

"Ready to make some dinner?" Hanschen asks as he unlocks Lotte's apartment. Calliope frowns at him like he's disappointed her, an adorable expression that Lotte says she picked up from him. 

"_No_, we have to change out of our school clothes first," Calliope says, like this is something obvious. And maybe it is, actually, but there's just as big of a likelihood that Calliope is trying to trick him into letting her stay up later by delaying dinner time. Hanschen weighs the possibility in his head, and decides that he's alright with it either way.

"Fine, but you have to change into your PJs, alright?"

"You too!" She insists, tugging him towards her room. Hanschen dutifully helps Calliope change into an Aurora themed sleep-dress, then he allows her to dig into his dresser in the guest room to find a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt that are declared "comfy cozy" enough to pass as PJs. 

"Okay,_now_ let's make dinner," Hanschen tries, but Calliope catches his hand again, shaking her head. 

"I gotta show you my new toys! Auntie G got me a Paw Patrol set and I love it." 

Hanschen looks nervously at the clock -- its approaching 7:45 and she's _supposed_ to be getting ready for bed in about half an hour. Still, she looks so excited, and its been a long time since Hanschen was able to see her for more than a couple hours at a time. Surely, he can push bedtime _once_. 

By the time Hanschen's phone buzzes and he's pulled out of the immersive experience of having to play-act a whole episode of Paw Patrol, He's shocked to find that its _well_ past 8:30 and Calliope _still hasn't had dinner_. The notification on his phone is from Lotte, because of course it is._** Ms**** B????? How do you know her????????**_ Lotte texts,_** Also omw**__**, thanks for taking care of the munchkin tonight**_

"Oh ffff-frick. Oh frick," Hanschen says, hopping up from the carpet. Calliope huffs at him, because his departure has knocked over the pup cars that they had so carefully set up. "Okay, baby, it's _way_ past your bedtime. What do you think about PB&J for dinner?"

"PB&J is _not_ dinner," Calliope says smartly. "I want chicken nuggets."

There is, in fact, a bag of chicken nuggets in the freezer. Hanschen put them there himself this afternoon, in preparation for tonight. He thinks wistfully of that Hanschen, who thought that he'd be able to wrangle his daughter into bed easily at a reasonable time. "Calliope, sweetheart, your mama's going to be home soon and she'll be upset at daddy if you're still up, but you can't go to bed until you have dinner. Chicken nuggets will take too long."

"Not if we go to McRonalds," She insists, "They have chicken nuggets _all the time_."

Hanschen looks at his daughter, a three-year-old terror in twin afro puffs, and considers his options. "Alright," He says, after deciding that forcing Calliope to eat a sandwich and go to bed would be too difficult a task even if he wasn't _fun parent_ _Hanschen Rilow,_ but a McDonald's run is manageable, "But you'll have to eat in the car, okay? We only have time to go through to drive through."

When he arrives back at the apartment, after not only getting Calliope a Happy Meal but also splitting a McFlurry with her, Lotte is already there: sitting in the living room like a parent confronting a teen sneaking in after curfew. 

"Mama!" Calliope yells, wriggling her hand out of Hanschen's to run to Lotte.

"Hey there, Callie," Lotte says, picking their daughter up and hugging Calliope to her side. Her curly hair is loose for once and a soft smile as risen to her lips, but her dark eyes are flinty as they rise back to Hanschen. "Hello Hanschen."

"Hi Lotte," Hanschen responds, calm and steady like a person who's not afraid of his ex-fiancée. 

"You two went to McDonald's? Even though we have leftovers _and_ chicken nuggets in the fridge?"

"Who says we went to McDonald's?" Hanschen asks. Lotte gestures at Hanschen's left hand, with which he's still holding the nearly empty McFlurry cup. "Alright, fair enough. If it makes it better, I did _try_ to get her to bed on time."

"You also took her to Graeter's," Lotte says dryly, though there's an undertone to her voice that let's Hanschen know that she's not _that_ mad. "Come on, squirt, time for bed. Daddy let you stay up too late."

Calliope whines and wiggles, but where Hanschen would've folded (and probably ended up playing more Paw Patrol), Lotte stands firm. She ushers Calliope to bed, gets efficiently through a story, and is back within fifteen minutes to stare Hanschen down. 

"I _promised_ her ice cream over the phone last night," He says before she can speak. Best offense is a quick defense and all that.

Lotte rolls her eyes. "You didn't have to get her it before dinner _and_ McDonald's."

"I know you're not going to think this is a good excuse, but she _asked_ and I couldn't think of a good reason to say no."

"If her teachers say that she's awful tomorrow, I'm blaming you," Lotte says, but the way she finally walks over to give Hanschen a hug undermines her tone. "Welcome back."

Hanschen wraps his arms around her tightly, leaning his head into her shoulder. "I missed you both a lot."

"Yeah, whatever," Lotte says, stepping back, "Softie."

"Only for you guys," Hanschen replies brightly. Lotte snorts. 

"Anyway, Wendla Bergmann: how do you know her?" 

Hanschen's brow furrows. "Who?"

"Calliope's teacher! You said you knew her. If you slept with her Hanschen, I swear to god," Lotte narrows her eyes, "This is a _good school_ and I'm not moving my daughter because you had a love affair."

"Right, that." Hanschen grimances, he can't help it. He had nearly forgotten about seeing Ernst -- or, at least, pushed it down enough that he wouldn't think about it until he was lying in bed that night, in a better position to freak out about people that he hadn't seen in five years. "No, not her. I, uh... I went to high school with Ernst Robel. He was there when I picked Calliope up."

"Oh, Mr. Robel! He was her teacher last year, Callie loves him."

"If he's anywhere as nice as he was when we were in school, that's not a surprise," Hanschen says, and he tries to sound casual, like he's just remarking on a classmate and acquaintances kindness, but there's a note of wistfulness in his words that catches Lotte's attention. 

"Don't tell me," Lotte starts, eyes wide, "_Hanschen_-"

"_Listen_, it's not a big deal," Hanschen says, but Lotte already has her phone out and is scrolling through _something_. 

"His Instagram is locked up," She says, "But I can see his old Facebook profile pictures and... Oh _Hanschen_."

She doesn't turn her phone around, doesn't show him what she's found, but Hanschen can imagine it. He doesn't remember all his profile pictures so he couldn't even start to remember all of Ernst's from high school, but he knows that both he and Ernst had mushy, embarrassingly _high school_ couple profile pictures more than once in the two years they dated. There's one that pops into his mind in particular now: a picture taken by Hanschen's mother of the two of them in the Rilow family entryway at Christmas time, about to go to an ugly sweater party but caught under the mistletoe, Ernst prettily flushed as Hanschen gives him a chaste kiss at his mother's insistence of _tradition_. Hanschen swallows thickly. 

"It's not a big deal, Lot."

Lotte looks at him contemplatively, then her eyes go a bit softer. "Okay," She agrees, then presses a finger decisively into her phone screen, "But still I'm sending him a friend request."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I asked about eight 3-4 years olds about their day at like 5pm in order to try and Accurately portray that part of this chapter, but I Morally find it necessary to say that a good half the children I asked about their day said "uhhhhhhhhhhhh" for at least half a minute before saying Anything, one frowned at me, and one of them just said "Purple!" so: your results may vary.
> 
> Anyway i.... don't know when the next chapter will happen. i know what i want to do with this fic now (the first chapter was,,, an impulse post but now i actually have a Plot Arc planned and shit) so hopefully soon but like. i'm me. so who knows
> 
> thanks for reading anyway i guess!!!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading, I hope you liked it!!! Comments, kudos, and bookmarks feed my small soul, 
> 
> [Main Tumblr (pldubrahs)](http://www.pldubrahs.tumblr.com) | [Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Personal Twitter (@squidias)](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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